Out of Reach
by SilouhetteDreams
Summary: England often imagines marvelous mystical creatures, but never has he imagined another nation. T for language. FrUK fluff.


"Good morning."

"Hi, England~"

I held my hand out, and the little pixie landed in my palm. I reminded myself that truly she didn't exist, but, sometimes the company was nice.

"Mister England, sugar in your tea?" I smiled at her.

"Yes, of course. How could I forget?" She bounded across the table and landed beside the sugar dish. She couldn't open it, of course. She a wee bit too small! I chuckled, lifted the lid, and dipped out a spoonful of sugar.

The sun filtered in through the window, and I squinted against the light. It was always good to have tea in the morning, especially with buggers like France around.

Speaking of which, where was he?

"Hey! You bloody git!" I called.

No answer. Usually he'd run out threatening to rip my eyebrows off with hot wax.

...Peculiar.

Oh well. I'd enjoy my peace and quiet. Maybe take a mid-morning nap.

I downed my cup of tea and laid down on the couch. I rarely did this, because France always seemed to hog the thing. I bought it and everything.

Well, wherever the idiot went, I was glad he was gone.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, enjoying the sweet sound of silence. The pixie was gone, along with anything else I had imagined.

"Bleedin' uncomfortable..." I whispered to myself, and rolled over and tried to fluff the cushions. I laid back down, satisfied.

Quiet.

I groaned. Maybe I should turn on some music. I got up off of the lumpy couch and went to the closet, pulling out the cheap little radio I had owned since the seventies. It felt good to pull out my CD case. I could never listen to anything I wanted.

Because apparently France thought British Punk wasthe Devil's music**.**

"Totally not what you'd have a romantic evening to!" I could hear him clear as day. In fact, I turned for fear he was back and about to shriek and unplug the music machine.

But there was nothing.

So I put in Placebo's Black Market Music (I had bought it new recently and thanks to that twit I had hardly listened to it at all**,**) and sat down and had another cup of tea.

Tea's much better than wine, I chuckled to myself.

"You should try it sometime. I bet you'd like white."

I coughed, the liquid catching in my throat in shock.

"Francis! You stop fucking with me!"

There was no answer, but I didn't expect there to be.

I sighed, took a deep breath, and put my cup down. I sang along to the music, the little bit that I knew, and tried to focus on something instead of letting my mind wander.

_"Sucker love is, heaven sent you,_

_pucker up our passions spent~"_

"Well if you insist~"

I jumped, and turned in the direction of the familiar voice, armed with a teacup I wasn't afraid to bash over the Frenchman's head.

But he wasn't there.

I slammed the cup down and groaned in frustration. "ALRIGHT FRANCE. YOU'VE PISSED ME OFF. YOU CAN COME OUT NOW."

...

Nothing.

I waited a little while, taking deep steady breaths, then spoke clearly and calmly.

"Alright then, you insignificant frog. I'll find you myself."

I opened the cupboard, finding nothing but canned goods.

Every cabinet was only filled with glasses.

The fridge full of disgusting French food.

I ran into the backrooms.

I hardly ever stepped foot into France's room, but I wasn't afraid to now. I slammed open the door, but all I found were piles of

clothes on the floor, an open closet, and an unmade bed.

I looked over my shoulder at my own bedroom. He knew not to go inside without my permission, but I peeked inside anyway.

Everything was perfectly in order. As it had been before.

"Hmm..." I looked up at the vent in my ceiling, and sighed. Never. Not even in another Hundred Years' War.

I walked back into the kitchen and started some more tea, assuming I was off my trolley.

"You give up easily, Angleterre~"

And there the wanker was, laying on the couch, his chin in his palms and smirking up at me.

I stormed off towards him and snatched at his hair, prepared to rip his stupid head off. But just as my fingers would've tightened around the blond strands, he moved back and dodged the grasp. He wasn't that fast usually.

I tried again.

And again.

"Try as you may, Arthur, I'm always _just_ out of reach~"

I huffed, after running around the house and playing this game, I was out of breath.

I looked down and sighed, reaching for him one more time, only to see he had vanished.

I blinked down at the couch, honestly a bit paranoid.

"F-France?"

There was no answer.

I sat down on the couch where he was and tried to think of any possible way he could've vanished without a sound. I would've at

least seen him move, or heard him if he had run off.

"England~"

I looked up at the creature in front of me. She smiled.

My breath caught.

The shimmery pixie giggled once more. "Have you figured it out now~?"

I looked out of the corner of my eye, and there he was again, leaning right over me. He smirked.

I was imagining France.

"Lonely, Angleterre~?"

I smiled up at him. "I guess so. I just hate how I can't punch you in the face, because you aren't really here."

He petted my head. "It's all how you perceive it, Arthur."

What did all this even mean?

Whatever, I growled and tried to slap his hand away, but he had already let go and vanished again.

"Francis..?"

I flopped down and buried my head in the pillow.

Why was I imagining France? ...Was I really imagining him? Or was he really here and playing an immature trick on me? Surely not...I mean, it all seemed too well done to be a trick he would pull...

But he's never left without telling me before...H-he wouldn't do that, would he?

And somehow, I found myself sobbing into that poor pillow.

Did I really miss that fool this much..?

I felt a soft touch on my shoulder and wiped my eyes and looked up, hoping that he'd be there again.

But it was just the little fairy once more.

She wiped my tear away.

"Thank you." I muttered to her.

I gently reached out and touched my finger to her hand, and I realized something.

You could touch anyone, if you just reached out to them.

...Corny, right?

She smiled up at me, and flew up and away. I watched her go.

And as I turned around I ran into the blond who had appeared in front of me.

"Ooof." I huffed, and looked up at him.

He smirked down at me, with that stupid cocky grin of his. "Looks like you finally caught me."

"Yeah. Where the bloody fuck are you right now?"

He chuckled. "Why's it matter? I'll be back later, and yet, I'm still here now, Angleterre~"

I pushed him back. "You git. You could've told me you were leaving."

Francis kept his stupid smirk. "Why? Did you miss me?"

I slapped him, satisfied with the sound and his look of shock.

I looked down, and he pulled me into his arms.

...Well, this was a load of bullocks.

"Why don't you lay down and take a nap, Angleterre? You seem stressed and worn..." France cooed.

_But then you'll leave me, just like the rest…_

I simply nodded into his chest.

I pulled away and laid down on the opposite end of the couch, so that I wouldn't lay my face in tears. I pulled a blanket around me and I was sure France was gone again.

He never could seem to stay long when I wanted him to, and whenever I didn't want him to, he was always here. I closed my

eyes.

And as I fell just between awareness and slumber I was almost sure I felt the softest touch and scratch of stubble against my cheek.

"...Rêves doux, Arthur..."


End file.
